


Competition

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:44:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Shoot prompt: they run into someone who has a past history with Root and a still present liking to her. Shaw gets jealous and they start a 'competition' about who knows Root the best, to everyone else's amusement. Shaw wins only to discover later that Root lied about some of her preferences because otherwise Shaw would have lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Competition

It’s night in the city of Manhattan; however, bright car lights and dazzling signs bathe the streets with vibrant color, turning the ebony sky a light charcoal, and leaving the stars to mingle with the street lamps. People walk about the streets like ants in a complex colony, each cluster moving with purpose towards their next destinations. Well, save for one.

At the corner of 95th and Madison, two women and two men stand together; rocks in the flowing river of passers-by.

“Shouldn’t Fusco  _be_  here by now?” Sameen Shaw asks impatiently, folding her arms as she leans against the cool brick of a flower shop. At her left, Root Groves looks over to her with doting eyes and a smile lopsided in affection. To her right, John Reese peers at her with a neutral countenance and the hint of a smirk.

“Impatient?” He asks, amusement in his tone.

“Hungry,” she grumbles back. Harold Finch slides up his jacket sleeve, checks the time, and then lets his hand fall back to his side.

* * *

 

“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly,” Harold assures her, although not telling her they’ve been waiting only thirteen minutes. He merely lets his gaze slide over to Reese, who meets it with the smallest quirk of a smile.

And sure enough, only two moments later, Detective Lionel Fusco makes his appearance, huffing discontentedly as he hustles forward.

“It’s about time,” Shaw comments, much to his anger.

“Woulda been here  _sooner_ , but I had extra _paperwork_ to fill out,” he burst heatedly, accusatory eyes set on Reese. “My partner  _conveniently_  disappeared before he could file  _his_  service report.” Fusco’s eyes are lasers, searing deep holes into Reese’s skin, but he barely perceives it.

“I don’t like paperwork,” John replies, and a new wave of hot fury threatens to blow the detective’s top.

“Well, lucky for  _you_ , you still got a  _job_  because ‘a me,” Fusco retorts, jabbing a finger John’s way. John raises his eyebrow microscopically, the phantom of a smile threatening to appear on his lips.

“What do you want, a medal?” John asks with extended patients.

“No,” Fusco replies. “But a burger and a nice, cold beer wouldn’t hurt.”

“I second that,” Shaw cuts in, pushing away from the wall, being sure to roll her eyes at Root’s adoring disposition. Root gives her a heart melting smile, one Shaw can only perceive as heart burn, before bouncing over to her side. As the group begins to walk, Root nimbly begins to slide her arm into Shaw’s. Shaw’s jaw clenches at once, breath hitching at the sudden notion as her eyes widen fractionally. Her teeth grind as what Root is doing sinks in, and she shrugs Root off heatedly before her cheeks can turn cyanotic. From the corner of her eye, Shaw sees the smug grin on Root’s lips, and the heat of a blush comes to her anyway.

“Where are we headed?” Harold asks, feeling the tensions rising faster than their grumbling stomachs.

“Diner across from the New York Public Library,” John responds, gesturing forward.

“So what’s the occasion, anyway?” Lionel asks, accent thick as he pulls his blazer up higher around his neck.

“Just a good day with the numbers,” Root answers, eyes not leaving Shaw. Shaw can feel the intensity of their gaze, and tries in vain to ignore them. Just when she thinks she’ll snap from the tension, Root looks away, and the chains restricting Shaw’s breath finally loosen. “Why?” She asks, speeding a little to catch up with the detective. “Something  _wrong_  with a couple friends out for dinner?” He scoffs.

“It is when I should technically be  _arresting_  you all every time I see ya,” he responds, but a cheery smile grows on his face nonetheless.

“What would you  _ever_  do with your days if we were all behind bars?” Root teases, melting back to Shaw’s side as John gives a laugh.

“Are you kidding?” John responds. “ _He’d_  be in there with us, for aiding and abetting criminals.”

“I don’t like to think of us as  _criminals_ , Mr. Reese,” Harold cuts in, back stiff with the conversation. Fusco claps a hand over his shoulder, and he tenses visibly.

“Ah, what’s the matter, Glasses?” Fusco jokes, hearty laugh in his words. “You don’t know who you hired?”

“Well, I was technically trapped in a cage,” Root points out good-naturedly, and the corner of Shaw’s mouth twitches with a smile.

“And I’m only here for the dog,” Shaw adds. “Where is he anyway?” Harold turns his head back a second to look at her.

“He’s at-”

“Hey!  _Hey_! Root?!  _Hey_?!” At once, five sets of eyes hone in on the direction of the voice, bodies looming like the sky scrapers of the city and as dark as a starless night. John and Lionel peer into the night with eyes stern as steel; Harold and Root with an acute ferocity met with curiosity; Shaw with burning warning and mistrust. Steps speed forward from the darkness, and Shaw’s back stretches to the sky menacingly and subconsciously moving in front of Root- something Root notices and meets with a barely suppressible smile.

“Root! Oh my God, hey! I haven’t seen you in-”

“Who are you?” John asks, voice low and calm but trimmed with an edge of ice; all the while, Shaw’s hand reaches to her waistband, fingertips brushing the grip of her gun.

“I’m Jeff,” the voice calls out to them, footsteps slowing with trepidation. “Jeff- Jeffrey Hurston.” He emerges from the shadows- steps once like sonic booms now soft as feathers- with a baby face and a lock of black hair in his large blue eyes.

The group hears an acknowledging sigh, and all of them relax from their tense stances, turning their eyes on her with different degrees of curiosity.

“Quite the group of guard dogs ya got there,” he says to her, stepping closer with a nervous chuckle as he looks each team member over.

“No, no,” Root assures him with a charming smile, “it’s not like that.” Jeff’s eyes meet Shaw, whose lip draws up in a wolf-like snarl- not at all helping Root’s case. Root coughs, bringing her hand to her forehead with a disbelieving laugh. “What are you  _doing_  here?” She asks him amiably, slipping away from the group to meet him a small ways ahead. Shaw’s eyes narrow the slightest bit on him, but she forces an air of calm over her features, slouching back with ease and nonchalance.

“I’m in for work…  _God_ , you look great!” He compliments her with a million dollar smile, and Root gives a modest one of her own, pushing her dark curls from her face. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good. New job, new apartment… Things have been good.” Shaw watches the way Root animates in talking to him, the way she can’t seem to stop moving, and feels an annoyance blooming in her chest.  _It’s just that he’s Machiavellian_ , Shaw tells herself, more firmly than she should have to.  _That Root just waltzes up to this person from her past. We all know how many enemies she had in her past._  She thinks back to Root’s trying to link arms, and now- in hindsight- scolds herself for pulling away. As much as she didn’t want to walk arm-in-arm with the hacker, and as much as she knew it would purely be to boil her blood, she acknowledges that it would have been a lot easier to keep her back.

Shaw focuses in on them, trying to hear what they say in hushed voices. However, the breath of a snicker washes them out entirely, and she turns to the source in irritation.

Looking up, she finds John Reese staring right back down at her, wicked smirk on his charming face. As her mind becomes clear of all other thoughts, she can sense another set of eyes on her as well, but ignores them, focusing all of her spite on Reese alone.

“ _What_ ,” she spits, voice venomous but eyes casual. Challenging him. He takes it gladly.

“Are you… _jealous_?” He asks, humor curling the last word sickeningly, and Shaw’s ears grow hot with anger.

“Jealous of what?” She asks, a rumble of easy laughter in her voice now, like this isn’t affecting her even a fraction of what it actually is. She gives a contemptuous snort, glancing Root’s way and swallowing down the bile in her throat. “Of  _her_?”

“Of him for  _talking_  to her,” John corrects, and Shaw sneers, unable to hold herself in any longer. Tearing her smoldering glare from John, she catches Fusco’s eyes darting away, and feels her fury growing ever stronger by the second. With the force of rage, Shaw puts on an annoyed countenance before clearing her throat. Root turns to look at her, eyes bursting in delight at seeing Shaw so animated.

“You done?” Shaw asks, silently kicking herself for the amount of emotion that emits from her. Sure, it was irritation, but there was no need to give Root any satisfaction in the manner.

At the sound of the words, Jeff’s eyes widen fretfully, turning up a sickening amount of charm in innocence as his face pleads for Root to say no. Root’s eyes travel between the two, torn, before letting out a silent sigh.

“Uh, maybe we’ll catch up with you later?” Root suggests, much to Shaw’s silent distaste. “I think we have a lot of talking left to do,” she tacks on, giving Jeff a quick smile at the words. The group of- now- four, look about each other with mingled shoulder shrugs. Except for one.

“Why go with him when he can just come with us?”

Eyes turn with varying levels of surprise to the smallest member of their group, none of them expecting such an offer. She meets all of their gazes evenly, all hostility she has hidden cleverly, and she sticks her hands in her front pockets casually. As much as the words had stuck to Shaw’s tongue and tried to run back down her throat, she was pleased out how neutral they surfaced. From the corner of her eye, she sees Jeff straighten up energetically, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” he says to Shaw enthusiastically before bringing his attention back to Root. “I’d really like to meet your friends,” he tells her with a sweet tone- enough to make Shaw’s stomach churn sickeningly. However, to Shaw’s slightest satisfaction, she sees relief trickle into Root’s eyes at the proposal.

The group starts up again, only a block from their destination now, with Jeff in tow. He walks at Root’s side with a comfort as if he’s done it everyday for the past eight years, and it brings a hostile prickle to Shaw’s skin. She keeps looking over at him, studying him and keeping him in check. She takes in his affectionate eyes and easygoing smile as he continues to talk inaudibly to Root.

 _You’d like to meet us_ , Shaw muses to herself with sinister humor.  _I’d sure like to get to know you myself._

________\ If Your Number’s Up /________

The diner is filled with the quaint noise of utensils scraping plates, soft murmurs wafting over from other tables, and light radio music dripping from the speakers. Their drinks had just arrived, and the conversation began to brew, most points of interest directed towards their newcomer, who didn’t seem to mind the attention.

“So what brings you out this way?” John asks, taking a swig of his beverage with icy blue eyes boring into Hurston. The man’s nose gives a small twitch, as it does each time he thinks, before he starts up with a genuine smile.

“I got a new job at Forest City Enterprise. I’m gonna be a security guard.” A cruel clip of laughter escapes Shaw’s lips.

“A  _security_  guard?” She asks, taking in once more his boyish features and small, lean frame from across the table. He doesn’t take it too roughly, although his eyes narrow, and he nods all the same.

“The last time I worked with Jeff, that’s what he was doing,” Root cuts in, warmth to her voice as she tries to assure the others of his ability to serve. “He was really good at it.” Shaw can feel a flicker of irritation pull her lip to a minute sneer at the comment. She feels Root elbow her from the right, warning her to play nice, and an invisible smirk grows in her eyes. The one good thing of this all?

They’d walked in, allowed to seat themselves, and descended upon a wide booth. Root slid in first. Then, Shaw slipped right past Jeff, giving him an indecipherable, half-second glare before following in. John came next, his over-six-foot stature looming menacingly over their guest until he backed away. Reese gave him a microscopic nod, telling him he made the right choice, before hunkering down at Shaw’s left. The only thing Shaw wasn’t too thrilled about was that Jeff was across from Root. She’d rather him be swapped for Lionel- who’s across from John- but settles with it nonetheless.

“What do  _you_  guys do?” Jeff asks them, met completely by silence. He grows slightly awkward, pushing himself deeper into the corner of the booth, before a relaxed smile comes to him, eyes connecting with Root’s. “So things  _haven’t_  changed as much as you said,” he teases her, and her jaw tightens.

“The two of you used to work together, then?” Harold asks, trying to make conversation, but also taking the chance to learn more of his colleague.

“A while ago,” Root answers shortly, flashing Harold a glance that tells him not to go there. He raises his brows at her in silent communication, and she gives him a tight smile.

“Yeah, but she was a lot of fun to work with- if you got to know her, at least,” Jeff tells Harold, exuberant smile on his face as Shaw rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you guys know that, though.”

“Yeah, it’s  _always_  fun when Banana Nut Crunch is runnin’ around,” Fusco mutters, eyes playing like movies of all the wild things she’s done. Jeff doesn’t seem to notice, all of his attention fixated on Root.

“Hey, Root,” Jeff says, tapping his fingers down on the wooden table and leaning in. “Do you remember that time when all of us went out to that bar on Doyers Street?” Root laughs, muscles relaxing visibly as the memory brings a warmth to her.

“Yeah, with Tommy, right?”

“Yeah! That’s it! And, how…” Shaw focuses away, silently wanting to know what happened but not wanting to hear it from him, and brings herself into the side-talk between the two detectives.

“I’m not gonna do your paperwork forever,” Lionel warns, taking a large gulp of his beverage.

“Then I’ll just have to find someone that will,” John replies, and Fusco snorts.

“Like  _who_? I’m the only one that can stand you at the station,” he points out gruffly, although there is a smile in his eyes. At the same time, they sense another presence listening in, and they turn their gazes on Shaw. John’s eyes light up humorously at once, but Shaw swallows her sharp comment, needing to at least feel nonchalant.

“What’s wrong, Shaw?” John asks, mock-concern in his low voice. “Root too preoccupied to pay attention to you?” Shaw feels a sneer forming on her lips, but keeps it away, controlling herself before starting up.

“Thankfully,” she tells him, bringing a humored relief to her response. “You guys have  _no_  idea how annoying she can be.”

“Mm _hmm_ ,” Fusco replies into his Miller, and Shaw shoots him a warning glare.

“You sure you don’t want to cut in on  _them_?” John presses, aiming to annoy and sure that it’s working. His eyes flicker over to Jeff and back for effect. “He’s making some pretty nice headway without you there to interrupt him.” Shaw responds with something between a grumble and a growl before re-entering Root’s conversation.

“-think we should get together some time. Do you still like Taiwanese?”

“She never eats that,” Shaw cuts in, mouth spitting it out before she has time to even process. Jeff’s eyes come to her with haughty curiosity, and her eyes come to slits.

“ _Really_?” Jeff asks, bringing his attention back to Root, who is still looking at Shaw with a small disbelief in her eyes. It takes a minute for Jeff’s question to register in Root’s mind, but even then, her attention doesn’t waver from Shaw as she answers.

“Uh, yeah,” she answers. “I don’t eat that… stuff.” A quirk of a smile overcomes Shaw’s lips as she raises her eyebrows his way. He purses his lips, but a fiery determination sets on his face, changing his features to a much fiercer setting.

“I guess you know a  _lot_  about her, then?” Jeff asks, ice in his voice, but Shaw doesn’t even feel the cold.

“You could say that,” Shaw responds, sitting back in her seat with a cocky slouch. Jeff mimics her.

“Then let’s put it to a test.” Shaw sits up slightly, interest piqued.

“What to a test,” she demands, eyes harsh but voice more than calculated. His head tilts slightly to the side, studying her until he’s sure her patience is at its end.

“Who knows Root best,” he answers at last, sitting back up in his seat and leaning once more over the table. At once, Root is shaking her head, an uncharacteristic panic in her eyes.

“No,” she tells them both sternly, looking between the two but unable to catch either of their eyes. “That’s not neces-”

“Good idea,” Shaw replies, voice anything but congratulatory.

“No, it’s  _not_ -”

“She likes her coffee black,” Jeff starts out, certain of himself, which only makes Shaw’s blood boil.

“Red Eye,” Shaw counters back, not missing a beat.

“She likes to bike.”

“She doesn’t even  _own_  a bike.”

From around the table, Shaw can hear mild laughter smothered in hands and drinks, but is too riled now to care about anything but this.  _There is no way in hell he was going to walk in and pretend to know everything._

“Uh… what’s her favorite music group?” Fusco calls out, feeding the flame. Root sends him murderous eyes, but the other two are already off.

“Chili Peppers,” he answers.

“ACDC,” she corrects.

“.357 Magnum or 9mm?” John cuts in.

“Three-fifty-seven,” Jeff responds in a know-it-all tone.

“A nine.” Shaw felt a nanosecond’s uncertainty on the last one, but knew that whatever Jeff picked, she would need to choose the opposite just to prove a point. John opens his mouth again, but Root interrupts him, words coming out in a rush.

“Look, our  _food’s_  here,” she calls out loudly, making it clear that she’s drawing a close to their little game.

“Wait,” Jeff says, harsh eyes melting into kindness as he looks back to Root. “Who won? Who knew more?” Root’s cheeks turn a shade of pink as she looks between the two, although she feels more than just their two sets of eyes on her. She presses her lips together, holding her breath, then exhales in a defeated sigh.

“Shaw,” she responds softly; slowly. “She got them all right.” Jeff makes a stumped noise, bringing a hand to his bottom lip as Shaw gives him a satisfied smirk. When he looks back to Root, there is something slightly darker in his gaze.

“You’ve changed a lot, then,” he comments at last, then takes his plate from the waitress.

________\ We’ll Find You /________

“Can you  _believe_  that guy?” Shaw asks, walking down the apartment building’s hallway; Root trailing at her side with a slow sluggishness. Shaw scoffs. “No offense if he’s still your friend, but I didn’t like him at all.”

Shaw leans against the wall beside Root’s apartment door, turning to look at her with a studying eye. Root pays no mind, walking to the door and protruding a key without saying a single thing, good or bad.

“Hey, Eeyore,” Shaw says, pushing to her side, leaning with one shoulder on the wall as she watches Root unlock the door. “What’s wrong?”

Root shakes her head slightly, as if to push even the thought of that away. However, she can’t help but think about it. The diner was something of a disaster. Like C4 detonating at their table.  _'You’ve changed a lot, then’,_ Root repeats in her mind, a guilty shudder traveling down her back.  _Not exactly…_ After dinner, Jeff had offered to take her to a bar, to catch up on all the things that had apparently changed since their last encounter. She declined, but Fusco was more than happy to take him up on it. John as well, who- after some time- coaxed Harold into joining as well. Shaw offered to walk Root home, more so to make sure Jeff wouldn’t than anything else, and had tried to make some sort of conversation along the way. It mostly dealt with her distaste for Jeff, and the faults she found with him; however, seeing Shaw so flustered did nothing to raise Root’s spirits.

“It’s nothing,” Root responds at last, pushing her door open. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before she can close the door- escape to the darkness of her apartment to recharge and think- there is a boot in the space between the door and the wall. Shaw’s boot.

“Doesn’t  _sound_  like nothing,” Shaw responds, looking at her sternly. Root can’t help the smile that quirks at the corner of her mouth as she looks away. “Was it that whole contest thing?”

At the mention of it, Root’s eyes come back to Shaw’s, a sigh in them. “Kind of.” Shaw’s head tilts the smallest bit, gears turning behind closed off eyes.

“If you’re upset that he lost th-”

“He didn’t…” Root breathes. “He didn’t  _lose_ , Shaw.”

Silence.

“What do you mean?” Shaw asks indignantly, hands on her hips. Root rolls her eyes, trying to force a tired smile from her face.

“I’ll  _see you_  tomorrow, Shaw,” Root tries once again, but it’s useless. Shaw lets herself in, and Root- slightly annoyed- closes the door behind them. When she turns back around, she sees the living room light being flicked on, instantly setting the space on fire. Every color cast in the darkness of night is ignited with the lights of the room, but Shaw- dressed all in black with her hair in a tight ponytail- still remains something of  a shadow in the bright space.

“What do you mean  _he_  won?” Shaw asks yet again, sitting down on the armrest of Root’s sofa as Root enters the room. “You said I-”

“Yeah, well, I lied,” Root shoots back, words beginning to bite. Shaw gives her a questioning look.

“Why?” Root stares at her a moment, as if the answer is evident. Yet, when Shaw doesn’t give any signs of dawning or enlightenment, Root sighs.

“Because, otherwise, you would have lost. And I  _kinda_  didn’t want that.” The edge to her tone is uncanny as she stands before Shaw, serious expression on her face and authoritative set to her posture. Shaw sits a moment, thinking it all over. In the mean time, she leaves Root to steam. “And of  _all_  the things,” Root continues, picking up speed, “I  _really_  thought you would have at least gotten the  _gun_  thing right.”

“Oh, like  _you_  know what  _my_  favorite weapon  _is_ ,” Shaw retorts with a brush-it-off air, but Root remains firm.

“H&K USP Compact.”

Shaw rolls her tongue across her teeth in irritation before nodding.

“Alright,  _fine_ ,” Shaw responds, kicking her shoes to the ground. “Tell me, then.” Root can’t help but to laugh in spite of herself.

“You really can’t take a  _guess_?” She asks, but Shaw swats the remark away with one hand.

“No, I mean tell me the stuff I got wrong.” Root’s muscles seize at once, not anticipating the move.

“Why..?” She asks cautiously, giving Shaw a skeptical eye. Shaw becomes visibly flustered, ears turning red as she feels she has to spell it all out.

“Because I want to know,” she spits out, much more harshly than intended, but Root doesn’t even register the venom. Instead, her heart stops beating entirely, breath caught in her throat.

It hits her. Hard.

In a rush, everything comes to her, every disconnected piece falls in line like a hectic puzzle. Her annoyance with the newcomer but also her inviting him aboard, her need to one up him or at least knock him down a few flights, and her constant, expressed distaste. What Root mistook for Shaw’s lack of trust for anyone out of their circle was something a bit more complex. It was jealousy. A smile forms on Root’s lips, liking the sound of Shaw being jealous as it rolls about in her head.

Yet, the thrill is wiped out rather quickly as a new feeling takes the lead. It’s as if she hadn’t realized anything at all until just this second. That Shaw is here, in her apartment- sitting on her couch. Looking at her. Waiting to hear anything Root has to say. It brings an unexplainable but very pleasurable chill to Root’s blood, and an excited nervousness courses through her veins.

Unsure whether to smile or scream, Root does neither, merely takes a seat on the couch, leaning back in its soft material. From her side, she senses movement, and looks over to see Shaw turning on her perch, placing her feet on the cushion and  leaning her elbows on her legs, all attention to Root. An electric current rips through every fiber of Root’s being just at knowing not only how close they are, but how alone as well.

Whether Shaw notices this or not, Root is unsure, but a small, half smile comes to Shaw’s lips, sending an army of butterflies to pillage Root’s stomach. Root’s fingers wriggle like worms as she allows them to trail across the couch, far too energized to be able to remain still. Yet- somehow- she composes herself enough to take in a large breath, gaze coming to Shaw. Shaw watches her, brown eyes patient and expectant.

Root breathes out, at last, ready to begin.


End file.
